


People Write Songs

by Catwithamauser



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Baby Fic, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 08:50:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8365978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catwithamauser/pseuds/Catwithamauser
Summary: It’s been eight weeks and nothing is the same in her life, not a single thing, not really...Or, Laurel and Frank have some post-baby sex.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a fluffy smutty one shot.  
> Because I'm gonna continue to ignore S3 and just post shameless fluffy wish fulfillment y'all. Don't even care.

Laurel doesn’t realize she’s fallen asleep until she’s woken up by a light touch against her arm, by Frank’s low voice near her ear.

“Hey,” he murmurs, the sound more felt than heard, thumb stroking against her arm, at the skin just above her elbow.

Her eyes blink open, consciousness coming back to her slowly, by degrees. “Hey.”

His face comes into focus, hovering on his knees next to the chair, smiling crookedly. “You fell asleep.”

Laurel hums, yawns widely. “I did,” she agrees, starting to roll the tension from her shoulders, realizes her mistake and stills. She’s still not used to the baby, still not used to having him in her arms, not used to having him curled up, tiny, against her chest, one of her hands spread against the span of his back, the other tight under his lower half, supporting his curved little body. She’s still not really even used to thinking of him as anything more than ‘the baby,’ hasn’t entirely wrapped her mind around the fact that he’s his own person, his own distinct creature, with his own name, _Mateo_ , and his own separate body and not still a part of her, a distant someday of a person.

She’s not really even sure _when_ she’ll get used to him, to having this new distinct creature in her life, because its been eight weeks now, Teo is eight weeks old, and she still startles sometimes to find him in her arms, to hear his insistent little cries, to feel the fullness of her breasts, heavy with milk for him.

It’s been eight weeks and _nothing_ is the same in her life, not a single thing, not really. Nothing except Frank.

“Felt bad about waking you up,” he says as she straightens in the chair, careful not to jostle the baby too much, careful to keep his little body still, watchful of any change in his breathing, any sudden movements in his limbs. He snuffles a little, in that strange, distinct way new babies have, short and high, almost chirping and Laurel sets her hand brushing up the span of his back, putting just enough pressure against his skin that he quiets. He’s new and he’s fragile and she’s still surprised by him, but Laurel is getting used to him, slowly, getting acclimated to this new person in her life, this little creature who relies on her totally and who has his own wants and needs and life outside of her own, starting to get to know his Teo-ness. “But that chair gets uncomfortable.”

Laurel nods, because it does, they’ve each had far too many nights in the eight weeks since Teo curled up in this armchair they both thought was comfortable when they bought it, rapidly realized the lie after hours spent in it, rocking, shushing, singing, feeding, begging Teo into at least silence, if not sleep. Part of learning his Teo-ness, Laurel thinks, was learning the things that work, the things that don’t, to quiet his angry, frustrated, desolate cries, to ease the terrible pulling ache in her chest when the baby cries, when nothing she does can settle him. It’s gotten easier, and it’s still the hardest thing she’s ever done.

She starts to push herself upright, hands still softly cradling the baby’s limp form. Frank stands too, places a hand under her elbow, helps her rise, his body solid and warm and close against hers. “Thanks,” she whispers, places a kiss against his jaw as Frank’s hand brushes, feather-light against the dark downiness of Teo’s hair.

“He’s something else,” Frank says, awe in his voice, as he leans down presses his own kiss against Teo’s forehead.

She nods. He is.

“Here,” Frank offers, slipping his hand to join hers against Teo’s back, his shoulder nudging lightly against hers, smile still small and full and crooked. “Lemme take him. I can put him in the swing in the kitchen and start on the dishes, let you get some sleep without worrying about him waking up again.”

“I,” she starts, falters, because God, they have a literal child together, created an actual human being, and yet, sometimes, she feels like she’s never been further away from Frank, never had so much distance echoing between them, Teo and everything he represents and a thousand other fears and doubts. They have an actual, literal child together and Laurel sometimes thinks she’s never loved Frank more, for Teo, because of Teo, and yet, she’s not sure if they can get back to what they were when it was just the two of them. But if she doesn’t say something, doesn’t do something, she’s not sure they ever will. “I, um, I’m gonna just keep him if that’s alright. And I’ll wait up for you, ok? We can watch the end of the Sixers game?”

He gives her a little sidelong glance, eyes narrowed and mouth tugging downwards like he’s not sure what she’s getting at but can hear in Laurel’s voice some note of concern, but nods, once, as they pass Teo’s tiny body between them, as Frank presses a quick kiss along the baby’s hairline. “Sure, ok. I won't be long.”

She nods, heart suddenly beating hard and fast in her chest, stomach churning. They were, she and Frank, always so good together, things were always so easy between them, really, even when they weren’t. But now, now there’s Teo and they’re still getting used to this third little person, inserted between them, altering, irrevocably, the dynamic between them.

She wants Frank, always wants Frank, she just doesn't know what to do about it now. Because so much has changed and nothing has changed, not really.

She places the baby gently in his crib, watches the slow rise and fall of his chest, the strange little twitches to his limbs she’s beginning to learn, knows, suddenly, that if she and Frank could create this creature, this tiny person, they can do anything.

She shucks her clothes, pulls on one of Frank’s old flannel shirts then tosses it off with a frustrated growl. This shouldn't be so hard, Laurel thinks, angry, she shouldn't care whether she’s wearing a ratty flannel shirt, except she isn't entirely sure that _Frank_ won’t care. Once he didn’t, once he wouldn’t care if she was wearing a plastic bag, but that was before Teo, before she gained pounds and pounds and parts of her body grew and other parts shrunk and now she doesn’t really fit together, like she’s been turned into some strange, Cubist drawing of a woman.

If she’s going to seduce Frank again, somehow get them back to where they were, she’s not gonna be able to do it with a ratty flannel shirt. She doesn’t know what she’s gonna be able to do it with, because her usual go-to’s, her small, scrappy, silky lingerie are all shoved to the back of her drawers now because they wouldn’t fit her if she tried. Not after Teo got done with her breasts.

Laurel knows she shouldn't mind, and she doesn’t, not really, because, well, she has Teo out of the whole deal, would probably have agreed to gain 500 pounds, given up her right arm if she was given Teo. But she still wants Frank, still wants him to want her. And she’s not sure how to do it, how to seduce Frank again, and certainly not with one of his old flannel shirts.

She’s biting her lip, one hand running, frustrated, through her hair, when she hears a gasp from behind her. Laurel turns and Frank is standing in the doorway, frozen, eyes wide and his jaw tight.

She freezes too, shocked, looks around desperately for something to throw over her shoulders, goes to grasp the flannel again.

“Don’t,” Frank commands, voice low and sharp.

She complies, can’t resist it, can’t resist _him_. She stills, standing there in the middle of the room in just her underwear, while Frank stares at her, swallows thickly, his throat jumping.

There’s long, long moments where he simply watches her, pupils blown and his hands curled into fists like he’s trying to resist reaching out to her, but then he’s striding forward before Laurel even knows what’s happening, pressing her up against the wall, one hand at her waist, slipping against the elastic of her panties, and the other tangled into the long strands of her hair, mouth devouring hers.

Laurel gasps, Frank swallowing the sound down, the sound half shock, half pleasure.

He kisses her again, tongue tangling with hers, teeth nipping at her lower lip and the hand in her hair tugging hard, exposing her throat to him. “I missed you,” he whispers against her throat, voice ragged, before he kisses her again, so deeply he steals the breath from her lungs. “God, Laurel, I missed you so much.”

His beard rasps against the soft skin of her throat until Laurel gasps in a mix of surprise and pleasure, lips moving down to glide against her collarbone, the hand at her hip rising to ghost against the curve of her breast.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against the sweet space behind her ear, teeth catching against her pulse point and his thumb still brushing, feather light, over her breast.

“Frank,” she whines, voice catching and suddenly going stiff, still. “Don’t, please.”

He pulls back instantly, fingers lingering at her elbow, but the softness of his lips, the strong press of his chest suddenly gone, leaving her trembling, aching for him. “Did I hurt you?”

She shakes her head, tears suddenly springing to her eyes and Laurel growls, frustrated. She knows its vain, she really does, knows its vain and petty to be so concerned with the things she lost when she gained the best thing of all, gained Teo, her tiny, perfect miracle of a son. But she can’t help feel a little twinge of grief at the loss of her body, the body she knew, not this one with its extra weight on her hips, her stomach, her breasts, most of which has vanished with Teo, but not all, not nearly all “No, no. Just don’t lie to me, please.”

If anything, Frank pulls back even more, brows pulling together and his jaw going hard in confusion, eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he begins cautiously, like he’s terrified of saying the wrong thing.

Laurel sighs, deeper than she would’ve liked, because well, it hurts more than she’d like. “You don’t have to tell me I’m beautiful,” she laughs, sharp and bitter. “I’m not gonna reject you if you don’t stroke my ego.”

His lips twist into a scowl, so quickly she almost misses it and his body goes so, so still for a long moment. “You are beautiful,” he says finally in that matter of fact way Frank has, that Laurel’s always loved, saying it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like there’s no reason to keep the words to himself, his eyes fixed on hers, blue on blue.

He must catch the mulish look that flashes across her eyes, knows she’s getting ready to challenge him because he snaps out a second, sharp command. “Don’t,” and Laurel, again, complies.

He takes a quick step towards her, into Laurel’s space, the fingers at her elbow, wandering, slow and deliberate, to the small of her back, tracing nonsensical patterns against her skin and running until he can cup the curve of her ass, draw her body flush to his while his lips whisper against the space behind her ear, her cheek and finally her lips.

“You don’t look the same, course,” he breathes against her mouth just as their lips slide together again, his tongue almost tentative against hers. His left hand is at her breast, and though she wasn’t even aware of it, wasn’t even aware of this new creature’s body she now lives inside, she finds that when Frank brushes his thumb over the pebbled skin there, her nipple is stiff peaked, eager for his touch. “You don’t look the same and you shouldn't look the same, but that doesn’t mean you’re not beautiful. You’re the most beautiful thing in the world.”

His tongue, his teeth lave against the soft skin of her throat, slide lower, until he kisses the space between her breasts, thumb still running across her breast until she’s pressing forward against his hand, craving more of his touch, craving more pressure against the sensitive bud.

“You were beautiful before,” he continues, voice breathy but also ragged, strung tight, nipping at the skin at the underside of her breast, careful that his touch isn't too much because Teo has mostly gotten the hang of latching, of breastfeeding, but that doesn’t mean its not painful sometimes. “But that was nothing compared to this. I didn’t wanna push you for anything, not till you were ready again, but you have no idea, _no idea_ , how hard it was. I want you so badly. I want you all the time.”

Frank straightens again, and his hips slide forward, press against hers and even through his jeans Laurel can feel the evidence of his words, hard and straining, already. His lips move back to hers, drink her down as she moans her want for him. God, she thinks, his voice, his words, they’re like a spell, and combined with the inferno his hands, his lips are stoking in her body, well, Laurel’d be a fool to resist him if she even could. And she can’t, she never could.

Her hand, against his back, moves around to brush against his cock, to the straining front of his jeans, drinks down Frank’s hiss as she strokes him through the fabric. “You,” he begins, falters at the slide of her hand. “You created Teo and you grew him and you kept him safe. And I love you so goddamn much for that. And your body is so fucking gorgeous for what it did, to give us Teo. It did something amazing and it _should_ be different after that. You were beautiful before, but now, now I don’t know what’s beyond beautiful.”

His hand slips down, slips between their bodies, brushes the material of her panties to the side, thumb skimming over her clit, through the wetness he already finds there.

“Let me show you,” he purrs, teeth tugging at her ear. “Let me show you how beautiful you are, let me show you how much I want you.”

His thumb increases its pace against her folds, slightly, increases the pressure where she needs him. Frank’s lips begin to trail a path down her chest until Laurel’s hand, tugging hard at his hair, stops him.

“No Frank, please,” she starts, not quite able to articulate, to put into words what she needs from him. She feels like her brain can only focus on the glide of his fingers, on the rough drag of his beard. “Not that. I…please, I need you to fuck me.”

He chuckles, low and dangerous, nips at the curve of her breast. “And here I thought my goal was obvious.”

“No,” she whispers again, hands sliding through his hair, nails stroking against his scalp until she can see his eyes slip closed.

“Not that. Not your fingers. Not your mouth. I need you inside me.”

Frank’s grin spreads wide, pleased and smirking and satisfied, but his eyes remain locked on her, pupils blown and she can feel the hammer of his heart in his chest.

He stands, grinning still, and pulls off his shirt in one go while Laurel’s fingers work the buttons, the zipper of his pants, pushing them off his hips with an almost violent desperation, needy, now, for him. His chuckle is back, so low Laurel thinks she merely feels it against her skin and he kisses her deeply as he steps out of his pants, boxers.

His hand fists in her hair, presses close as he walks them backwards until Laurel’s knees hit the bed and she sits, hand against Frank’s jaw forcing him to follow her down to the bed, laying her down and covering her body with his.

He’s slipping his hand against her folds again, pulling her underwear down her legs, lips hovering somewhere near her collarbone when Laurel tugs at his hair. Because she can hear the high, snuffling sounds that signal the baby waking, sleep disturbed by something. She glances over towards the crib, sees Teo’s tiny limbs fluttering, hears his little chirping cries, soft though, not awake yet.

“Frank,” she grits out, gasping. “Frank, the baby.”

He groans, forehead pressing against her chest, goes still, but then he gives her a crooked, sheepish smile and rolls over her, onto his back, sighing as they both wait for the baby to either wake or for sleep to take him again, wait for silence to echo through the room again or for Teo’s sharp cries to grow louder. “Should’ve anticipated T interrupting us. Shoulda taken the party to the couch or something”

“He’s not gonna wake up,” she says, rolling her eyes, nails catching against the roughness of his beard once she’s certain he’s quieted, once she’s certain silence and sleep have taken him again.

“He will,” Frank counters, hand stroking against her hip. “Soon as things get good, he’s gonna wake up.”

Laurel laughs, swallows back her moan as Frank’s hand wanders back to her center, fingers circling her clit slowly. “You saying things aren't good right now?”

He smirks as he kisses the place where her neck meets her shoulder, picks up the pace of his fingers, smirk spreading wider as Laurel lifts her hips to meet his strokes. “I’m saying things are good now, but they’re gonna get better.”

“Yeah?” she murmurs. “How much better?”

“Lemme show you,” he purrs, teeth skidding against her collarbone, hard enough she worries he’ll break skin, hoping he’ll break skin, mark her, leave her knowing, tomorrow, that she’s his. “Lemme show you how good its gonna be.”

“Quit talking,” she demands, digging her nails into the smooth muscles of his shoulders, other hand curving between their bodies to brush against his cock, feeling his hips jump in response. “And prove it.”

“Have I ever not backed it up?” he asks roughly, nudging her legs apart with his knee, pressing forward so the head of his cock brushes against her clit, against her entrance, gently, the feeling so good, so perfect that Laurel whines, high and desperate, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders, desperate to get him closer.

He slips forward, slips inside her half an inch, an inch, it doesn’t matter because its nowhere near what she wants, what she needs from him. “Well?” he growls against her neck, voice strung tight like a wire, humming with tension, with desperate need. “Have I ever…not backed it up? Tell me.”

He pulls back, slips out of her and Laurel keens so loud she wonders, with the last remnants of her frayed brain, how she hasn’t woken the baby, her fingers digging in against his shoulders, his back, her heels against the small of his back trying to force him closer.

“Tell me,” he demands again, his teeth against her throat, tongue soothing over the bruised flesh. “Tell me and I’ll give you what you need.”

“Always,” she breathes, voice practically a sob. “You always back it up. Please Frank. Don’t. Don’t make me beg.”

“I like it when you beg,” he tells her, smirking as he kisses her, their tongues tangling sweetly. “I like knowing you want me. Like I want you.”

She wonders, desperately, if he needs more, needs her to beg more, wonders what it will take to get him to fuck her. But then his hips slide forward and he’s pushing inside her, filling her up and Laurel cries out, can’t stifle the sound, because its been nine weeks, ten maybe, since they last had sex, just before Teo, but it feels like far longer, feels like lifetimes and Laurel thought she knew how badly she’s missed him, wanted him, but she had no idea, _none_ , until now, until he’s finally inside her, finally where she needed him.

Frank’s hips still, eyes slipping closed, like he’s savoring the feeling, savoring the tight clench of her body around him. Laurel knows she’s savoring it, the sweet swell of him, feeling him in her, around her, feeling nothing but Frank.

He begins to move, slowly at first, but picking up speed, getting used to to her body again, her hips snapping to meet his as they find their rhythm again, find their footing together as a duo after Teo turned them into a family of three.

“Fuck,” Frank hisses into her skin, words coming in time with his thrusts and his hand snaking between their bodies to slip against her clit, running over the tight little bundle of nerves until Laurel moans desperately again. “Fuck you’re perfect. You’re so beautiful. I love you.”

“I love you,” she echoes, voice breaking. “I love you. God, please. Please Frank.”

He speeds up again, hips pistoning, and she spreads her hips wider and Frank shifts the angle of his thrusts just so and then suddenly, suddenly it all becomes too much and all she can feel is pleasure, the brush of his thumb circling her clit and his cock filling her just right, hitting that place inside her that only Frank has ever been able to find.

She’s close, she knows she’s close, can feel it in the growing tightness between her legs, the sweet clench low in her stomach, building into an inferno, building into something she can’t resist, can’t stand against, like a rising tide, like a wave approaching the shore, ready to break.

Frank must be able to tell, because he stills his frenetic strokes against her clit, lets his movements stutter, still, rhythm faltering until she can no longer predict the pressure, the touch when it comes, until she is left, desperate, in anticipation, hips canting with hopeless, sobbing want.

She’s close, so close, the tension ready to snap, unable to feel, to think anything beyond the movements of her body, of Frank’s body, not able to understand anything beyond the places where their bodies meet. Frank’s lips meet her neck then, suck hard at the sensitive skin there, his beard rasping against her skin, sending little pinpricks of pain into her already overloaded brain.

She shivers then, and breaks, breaks apart, pleasure surrounding her, overwhelming her, setting her crying out, muffling her voice against Frank’s shoulder, walls clenching around him as she tries to tries to wring every once of pleasure from her body, from his.

It somehow catches her by surprise, the feeling, the feeling of breaking apart, of being utterly wrecked by feeling, by pleasure. It hasn’t been that long and yet, it feels like lifetimes since she last came and it hits her like a freight train, all at once and slowly at the same time, wave after wave, utterly and completely too much.

And then Frank is following after her, his own deep cries echoing against her skin, pace breaking as he comes inside her. The movement of their bodies together slows, stills, breaths mingling harshly together. Frank collapses, half on top of her, the heavy pressing weight of him sending their bodies tightly together, Laurel smoothing her hands down his muscled back, slick with sweat.

She doesn’t realize she’s crying until Frank’s lips ghost against her cheeks, until his thumb brushes under her eye, until she sees the crooked twist of his lips, sheepish and concerned and with just a hint of smugness. The baby, she thinks, fondness mixed with frustration, her fingers joining Frank’s to dash the tears away, the baby has her feeling everything intensely, almost too strongly, like her emotions have all been drawn to the surface.

“All good?” he whispers against her skin, lips moving against her jaw.

She nods, her smile wide and loose despite her tears. “Perfect.”

He rolls over onto his back, hand pressed between Laurel’s shoulder blades takes her with him until she’s pillowed against his chest. His grin grows wider, cocky. “You really know what to say to a guy.”

She laughs quickly, lips whispering against his pecs. “Doesn’t mean its not true.”

“I missed you,” he says again, voice tight. “Teo is…Teo’s the best thing I’ve ever done. But that doesn’t mean sometimes I don’t miss when it was just you ‘n me.”

“Its hard,” she agrees, eyes sliding closed, feeling loose and slow, tucking her cheek against his chest, voice slurred. “Figuring out how to be his mom while still being me. How its all supposed to fit together.”

“We’re new at this, but we’ll get the hang of it,” Frank assures her, drawing her body closer into the crook of his arm. “Or we won’t and we turn half our paychecks over to his therapist.”

She groans, nips at his jaw, refusing to open her eyes because she knows that’s his aim, knows him too well to not know that’s his aim. “Frank.”

“I mean it,” he says and she can hear his grin in his voice. “We’ll get there, figure out our footing, how to be both things; us and his parents.”

“We will,” Laurel echoes sleepily. “But not tonight.”

“I really knocked you out huh,” he says, and her eyes crack to see his pleased smirk.

She rolls her eyes. “Your _son_ ,” she tells him. “Is the one who knocked me out. Kept me up half the night wanting to eat while _you_ got to sleep.”

Frank smiles sheepishly. “I wish I could help you more with him.”

“Frank,” she murmurs, kissing the corner of his mouth again. “You take care of him all day. We’re a team.”

“Still,” he says, hand tracing idle patterns against the curve of her lower back. “I was kinda hoping we’d fit in a little more ‘us’ time tonight before we retreated back to being Teo’s folks.”

“Give me an hour or two,” she yawns. “If Teo’s still asleep, you can get started on the eight weeks of orgasms you owe me.”

He chuckles low against her skin, the sound interrupted by his own wide yawn. “Eight weeks, huh? That’s a pretty hefty challenge.”

“I think you’re up for it,” she murmurs, hand trailing down his body to brush against his cock. “In fact, seems like you definitely are.”

“Oh don't worry,” Frank assures her as he stiffens further in her hand, breath hitching and coming fast now. “I’m up for anything involving a naked you and a naked me and orgasms.”

And then the silence of the room coalesces into sound, into the high sharp cries they’ve both gotten more than familiar with in the past eight weeks. The baby.

“Shit,” Frank groans, exhaling sharply as Laurel stills her hand. “Shit. I love that kid, but his timing’s terrible.”

She rolls away from him, swings her legs to the floor. “Welcome to the next eighteen years of your life.”

Frank chuckles, sits up, glares down at his still stiff cock. “Hopefully only the next few months and then he’ll learn to stay asleep for more than ninety minutes.”

“We can hope,” she throws over her shoulder as she finds the discarded flannel she chucked away earlier, pulls it around her shoulders, doesn’t bother buttoning more than two of the buttons, just so it closes over her chest. “I’m hoping he just needs to be changed.”

He glances over at the clock on the nightstand, frowns. “Doubt it. Close to two hours since he last ate.”

Laurel grabs a pair of Frank’s boxers from the drawer, slides them up her hips, laughing as she turns back around and catches the pout that flows across his face. “I’ll be back when I can. Try and stay awake.”

“Nah, keep him in here,” he tells her, frown suddenly easing and turning into his slanted smirk. “I’ll gonna turn on the game, make sure we both stay up. I take your orgasms very seriously.”

“That's,” she begins, pauses, because she’s not really sure how to respond. “That’s very dedicated of you.”

“I live to serve,” he tells her just as Teo’s cries increase in volume, tearing long gashes into Laurel’s heart. “Plus, I like being with you, with him.”

She goes to Frank, places a long kiss against his lips, hand stroking through his beard. “You’re a good dad and a good husband and I love you. T loves you too.”

“Go,” he tells her, kissing her again before she turns towards the crib, towards their crying son. They both know, Laurel thinks, that the baby will need more than a change and Laurel will bring him into their bed and will fall asleep sitting up, Teo cushioned against her chest. And then Frank will look over, realize they’re both asleep, will ease the baby from her arms, set him back in his crib and somehow maneuver the comforter over Laurel without waking her, making sure both of them are taken care of because he’s a good man and he loves them. There won’t, they both know, be any more sex tonight. But they’ll make time in the morning, or over the weekend or maybe even Tuesday night if Teo can stay asleep, they’ll make time and they’ll make it work and eventually they’ll find a new rhythm, a new normal.

They’re still adjusting to Teo, to having a strange, new creature in their lives, but they’re getting there, getting used to him, to each other again. It may be easier or it may be harder, but this is the best, most wonderful hard thing Laurel knows she’s ever done because she has everything she ever could’ve wanted, and things she didn’t even know she did.

And she probably won’t have as much sex as she’d like for the next few years, but she and Frank will make time, she knows they will, even if its work, because no, she’s not the same person as she was before Teo, and Frank isn't either, but that’s ok, they’re like two trees growing together, roots and limbs and trunks twining, twisting together until they become one, become whole, becoming stronger together than they ever were alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the Naked and Famous song "Girls Like You"


End file.
